Oh, So Very Very Close.

"Exactly. Goody goody, we're both going to Paris." I said in a funny voice.

Sian's frown deepened, "If I was already going, then the blow job was for nothing."

"HELL NO, I just loved every second of it."

"You're a fucking creep." she cried in contempt. "Just a fucking creep."

I laughed and waved my now limp cock at her, "I know, but I'm a happily satisfied creep."

Sian glared at me, but her anger began to crack, and soon a little smile appeared on her face.

"Jesus, you're devious bastard. I just hope you realise that its winter in Paris, and I'm gonna need a complete new wardrobe. So that's gonna cost you big time."

I let the smile slide from my face and replaced it with my very worried look. Sian grinned as she got to her feet and picked her bra and top from the floor.

"And no sex until we get back either, from now on you're on rations." she added before haughtily leaving the room.

I knew she was lying, for she didn't like going without either.

For the next few days I was most smug at my deception, and I thought I'd got away with it. But I sometimes forget how devious my wife can be, usually to my detriment. On the following Saturday I arrived at the golf course for my usual competitive foursome. It's customary that the worst player over eighteen holes pays for drinks at the nineteenth. It's also customary that the other three make the most of the situation and drink as much as possible. On this particular Saturday, I removed my golf trundler from the trunk of my car to find that both wheels had been removed, by someone unknown I might add. The other three smiled it quiet satisfaction, for they knew that I was seriously disadvantaged. One of them spotted a message taped to my golf bag. It read: That's the last blow job you're ever getting. Enjoy your game. Lov S.

Of course the missing wheels and the note took a bit of explaining to my so called friends, who of course pressed me for every little detail. I left my golf bag in the car, and carried one driver, a seven iron and a putter around the eighteen holes. I played the worst game of golf in my life that day, but I wore a continuous grin all the way around that course. I imagined placing my lovely wife across my knee, removing her panties and slapping her nice round bum until she cried for mercy. I know that it would never be, but oh what a fantasy.